


Birthdays: enchanting gifts, emotional godparents and surprise celebrations

by les Amis DCD (AlmostARealHobbit)



Series: of witches, selkies and crows [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Magical Realism, Minor Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Other, a crow makes another baby eating joke, is that a warning?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostARealHobbit/pseuds/les%20Amis%20DCD
Summary: "“Now, let’s go celebrate the end of this beautiful year, and welcome the next one to come —it will be even better,” Jehan vowed. And because everyone knows that vows must be sealed with something significant, with a part of themselves that the vower gives, Jehan lifted themselves onto the tip of their toes and deposited onto Bahorel’s lips the most delicate, longest of kisses. Barely even a press, like a feather caressing skin, but one that lingered for several loud beats of Jehan’s heart —a whole year, and still it hammered inside their chest each time they kissed."It is the Pontmercys' child's first birthday. There is a lot to be celebrated, and perhaps a little to be mourned, too.
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy
Series: of witches, selkies and crows [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815451
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Birthdays: enchanting gifts, emotional godparents and surprise celebrations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyBossuet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/gifts).



> HAP BORTH, MY FRIEND! This fic is a present for [LuckyBossuet's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/pseuds/LuckyBossuet) birthday! I hope you like it and you have a fantastic day!
> 
> As always, many many thanks to the lovely [cantando-siempre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantando_siempre/pseuds/cantando_siempre) for being such an amazing beta!
> 
> This is a sequel of my fic Firstborns (first work in this series). You probably won't understand much of this fic without reading the first one beforehand, so I recommend giving it a read before this one!

“I can’t believe it,” Bahorel said suddenly, as he made his way up the Pontmercy’s alleyway with an arm loosely wrapped around Jehan’s waist. 

Jehan nodded; they’d been hearing some variation of this sentence repeatedly for the past week, with Bahorel’s intensity rising to a panicked head since they’d gotten up that morning. “I know, dear.” 

“No, but I really  _ can’t _ believe it. How has it been a year already? Just two weeks ago we were bringing her home!” Naturally, it hadn’t been his own home, back then. It had only been Jehan’s, but Bahorel had taken to it quickly. There had been no sense to him moving back to his own flat after they’d managed to return Madeleine to her parents, so Bahorel had stayed, and Jehan had welcomed him into their home as eagerly as they’d had into their heart. 

“I’m afraid the past two weeks lasted a whole year, then,” Jehan said peaceably. 

Together, they reached the door —the one they’d walked through exactly a year ago to unexpectedly find themselves parents of their friends’ daughter. Jehan stopped and turned to face Bahorel. He looked shaken, and had Jehan taken time to examine their own feelings with more precision, they would have found themselves just as unsettled. They didn’t care to, however, not when their lover was in such an obvious need of comfort. 

Jehan cupped Bahorel’s cheeks tenderly, as if scared that he might bolt —they really ought to stop assuming he would, because in all that time, Bahorel had stood by their side, unwavering and with no apparent intention of ever leaving.

“It  _ has  _ been a year,” Jehan said as they rubbed Bahorel’s bearded cheeks with their thumb, “but look how good a year it has been, hm? You wouldn’t take it back, would you?” 

Bahorel huffed. “I’d like to see anyone try and take it back from me! Best year of my life, that was,” he added so gently, so tenderly, Jehan felt themselves go soft. Their smile softened, their hands on Bahorel’s face cradled it all the more preciously, and their whole body became more pliant as they leant forward into Bahorel’s form. 

“The best year, so far,” Jehan told Bahorel. “Now, let’s go celebrate the end of this beautiful year, and welcome the next one to come —it will be even better,” they vowed. And because everyone knows that vows must be sealed with something significant, with a part of themselves that the vower gives, Jehan lifted themselves onto the tip of their toes and deposited onto Bahorel’s lips the most delicate, longest of kisses. Barely even a press, like a feather caressing skin, but one that lingered for several loud beats of Jehan’s heart —a whole year, and still it hammered inside their chest each time they kissed. 

When they drew back, Bahorel looked stunned; his eyelashes fluttered as if he struggled to maintain his eyes open for more than half a second. His mouth still hung open, and it looked so delectable, Jehan had half in mind to reach up again and kiss him once more. 

“It’s certainly off to a good start,” Bahorel said finally, when he regained some semblance of coherence. Jehan beamed at him.

“Should we go in?”

“I guess we should.”

And so they did, hand in hand. Jehan would have been quite incapable to say who had reached for the other’s hand first. They thought that perhaps they’d done so together, a mirror of the same gesture —they were indeed correct. 

The Pontmercy cottage was already full when they entered. The noise hit them as soon as they opened the door; the loud, buoyant and bubbling life of their friends welcoming them, punctuated by the sharp squeals of a baby who, really, wasn’t that much of a baby anymore.

Bahorel dropped the bag he’d been holding immediately upon entering, and Jehan’s hand, too, after a beat of hesitation. “My little Madeleine!” he cooed, hurrying to Marius’ side to take the child from his arms. “You’re so grown! You’re a full sized madeleine, now! Can’t even fit you in the biscuit tin anymore!”

“Didn’t he see her last week?” Joly asked Jehan when he approached the witch to greet them with two sound kisses to each of their cheeks. 

“Two days ago, actually,” they corrected him. “We minded her for a few hours to allow Cosette and Marius to go on a date. He’s just a little emotional.”

Joly laughed. “I can see that. And you’re not?” he asked. His voice held no judgement, because Joly’s voice never held any, nor did the rest of his being. Joly was exactly that — _jolly_ — and only ever asked these sort of things out of care and love for his friends. 

Jehan pondered it for a moment, watching Bahorel hold Madeleine in the air, high above his face, and stick his tongue out at her. “Oh no, I am. I’m just better at hiding it than he is.” 

Joly hummed and patted Jehan’s shoulder in comfort. “Of course. Go and say ‘hi’ to her.” 

Jehan thanked their friend and left the entryway to join their partner and goddaughter. Bahorel brought her down and handed her to Jehan immediately, crossing the space between them while mimicking a plane for Madeleine who laughed and laughed, extremely entertained by her new means of transportation.

“There you go, my dove,” he told Jehan, depositing the child into their waiting arms with a tenderness he only ever showed Jehan and Madeleine —tenderness had been tough to learn for Bahorel, having never received any himself until he had met Les Amis. Arguably, he was still quite bad at it; most of his affection he showed in a jest, in a shared pint of beer, or in a rough clap to the back. With Jehan, much like with Madeleine, however, his gestures were slow, delicate, as if he were scared to break them —which he was, though he’d be hard pressed to confess it; there was only so much work on himself and his own vulnerability that he was willing to do. 

“Why, good afternoon, fearsome little witch. For your godfather’s sake, I hope you’ve been up to much mischief,” Jehan greeted Madeleine. She giggled and produced an impressive bubble of saliva. 

With each passing day, Madeleine was indeed showing more and more magical aptitudes, which both Cosette and Jehan were overjoyed about. Marius, though he was proud as ever of his little family —was there even a way for Marius Pontmercy to be anything but proud of his family? We will answer this question for you: there wasn’t— was also significantly warier of Madeleine’s powers. He didn’t  _ mind _ his daughter being a witch —he had, after all, married one and had long accepted the idea that his own children might take after their mother— but he’d never felt more out of his depth than he did now, faced with the prospect of raising a child whose powers he could never truly understand. 

“Trust me, she  _ has _ ,” Cosette confirmed as she approached her daughter and her godparents, dropping two quick kisses to Jehan and Bahorel’s cheeks. “She takes after her godfather, alright.”

Bahorel let out a noise that he’d deny ever making later, something between a whine and a swoon. “Damn right, she does,” he said after he’d composed himself again. 

After the last of Les Amis arrived, the group was deemed complete and the party was moved to the Pontmercys’ back garden. Jehan was glad for it —they were unsurprisingly at their happiest amongst nature, but it had also been a long time since they’d had the chance to greet the garden Cosette tended to with much care. It was prettier than Jehan’s, most people would likely agree, in that more of it was grown for beauty, and in that Cosette was regular and meticulous in her weeding and clipping. Cosette was not a green witch, and thusly relied on her garden much less than Jehan did. She grew plants for their usefulness, their visual aesthetics and scents, and did so admirably, but her magic wasn’t tied to her garden or nature the way Jehan was. Her spirit also differed much from Jehan’s, who had always run wilder and harder to tame or understand. Still, Jehan found the garden remarkably lovely and appreciated the thrumming energy it held, which could be sensed by any who might care to pay enough attention. 

Les Amis all ate, drank and were their usual merry selves, happy to partake in the feast they had all participated in making. Courfeyrac had made his usual mini-quiches and promptly deflected any question about whether he’d attempted to make a clafoutis for the occasion, Combeferre had prepared fataya (his mother’s precious and secret recipe), Grantaire had made tuna and salmon rillettes, Joly had brought xiaolongbao, and Marius, to celebrate his very first year of fatherhood, had a barbecue ready. The spread was delectable —but then, meals always are when they are shared with great company. One never truly remembers how bad a meal might be, when one is laughing through it, dodging flying cherry tomatoes and passing around food made with heart and love, and perhaps even a dash of magic. 

Eventually, they reached dessert, and Cosette brought out a cake so wonderfully, colourfully decorated that all ooh’ed and aah’ed right on time with Madeleine, whose eyes were wide with wonder. They lit candles and attempted to teach Madeleine how to blow them out, which only resulted in baby drool joining the bright orange icing and a great round of laughter. 

“Wait everyone!” Bahorel called loudly to catch everyone’s attention. “Our darling Jehan made some dessert, too!” he said with a smirk lopsided and wide enough that all of Les Amis knew it meant trouble.

Jehan shifted in the hold Bahorel had around their waist to reach for the bag they had left behind themself earlier; they pulled a large round dish covered in foil from it.

“ _ No, you didn’t _ ,” Grantaire, who had a very keen sense of smell and a mischievous streak himself, breathed out, before letting himself go boneless against Enjolras, wrecked by loud guffaws which Bahorel joined.

“What is it?” Bossuet asked, twisting to get a better look at the mysterious dish, which remained resolutely hidden.

At last, at long last, Jehan set it down on the cloth they had spread over the grass and removed the foil to reveal a blueberry pie. 

“Is this in bad taste?” they asked, both shy and coy, to the group who would be hard-pressed to answer now that they had all joined Grantaire and Bahorel in their laughter.

“Marius, I beg of you, not a word from you until you have eaten and digested this pie,” Cosette said, but she was laughing as loudly as the others. Marius made a show of zipping his mouth shut, but he also started wiggling around, slowly inching closer to the dessert.

“Bahorel, you’re such a bad influence on Jehan!” Eponine called out, though she looked as impatient as Marius to get a slice of the pie.

Bahorel flipped her the bird good-naturedly and stuck his tongue out, in spite of the half-chewed xiaolongbao still on it. Jehan squeezed tighter to Bahorel’s side and ran a hand on his thigh.

“I think he’s rubbing off on me  _ just right _ , thank you for your concern,” they said with a wink to Eponine’s direction. 

She groaned in response and adjusted her sunglasses on her nose. “I swear, you people in love are sickening.”

“Enough talk!” Marius called, uncharacteristically loud. “Let the people have pie!”

Jehan’s pie, much like on that infamous day, was gone quicker than they would have been able to say “nymph”, which they took as a great compliment —and consequently required them to swear to Bahorel that they would make more of that pie, just for him and Russell. Bahorel whooped and Marius pouted; Cosette stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a sober glare. 

“ _ Don’t say it _ .” 

Everyone handed in their birthday gifts one by one, and they were opened by Madeleine herself who, assisted by her parents, tore wrapping paper away in great amusement —it became quickly clear that she was much more interested in the shiny paper her gifts were wrapped in than she was in its content. She received soft toys, games, puzzles and thick cardboard books to sharpen her mind —Combeferre’s contribution.

“They’re perfect!” Cosette said, sniffling.

Bahorel’s present  _ wasn’t  _ quite so perfect. In truth, no one quite knew what to make of Bahorel’s present, except for Bahorel himself and Jehan, who had gotten exponentially better at understanding him and his work.

“Is this… a  _ whoopee cushion _ ?” Marius asked when he opened it. “What is a one-year old going to do with a whoopee cushion?”

Bahorel stuck his chin up. “I’ll have you know that I received my first  whip around her age. Young demons get started early— do you know how long it takes for someone to become truly terrifying?”

“But… she’s not a demon,” Marius said.

“Precisely! Which means we have to work around her lack of demonic powers and make do with what we have. And human techniques aren’t actually half bad, when it comes to making other people’s day shit. Actually,” he added with an air of confidence, “I know that Les Amis is all about equality, appeased relations and all that, but humans are arguably much more demonic in practice than most demons. Do you  _ know _ the shit that they come up with? Wild.” 

The group stared at Bahorel, a little baffled. Most seemed unsure whether they should comment on any of it and point out the obvious.  _ Why would Madeleine the young witch need to wreak havoc? _ Jehan, however, just appraised their lover with a soft gaze. They always did, anyway, but this was more. They were approving of him, comforting him in his conviction and his gesture. Bahorel’s bond with Madeleine had always been strong, and he still felt the loss of her around their house. He didn’t say it, not to anyone else but Jehan anyway, but he longed for those very first days and weeks, the ones during which he had been a father properly, and not merely a godfather, the ones during which raising Madeleine had been  _ his _ task, and he’d only had to share it with Jehan. He was desperate to keep a connection with her.

Jehan reached for Bahorel’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Bahorel started again, emboldened by his partner’s touch. “Anyway, I’ll make sure my goddaughter knows what she needs to know in life. I’ll leave the human stuff and witchy things to you, but I take my role very seriously. And today, it starts with a whoopee cushion.”

“A great choice, my love,” Jehan reassured him.

Cosette, who had always had a powerful connection to Jehan in both magic and temperament, nodded in understanding. She suddenly understood the significance of the gift. “Yes, a really good one,” she said. “Thank you so much, Bahorel. I’m sure she’ll love it.” And to demonstrate, she pulled the whoopee cushion off of its wrapper, showed it to Madeleine and squeezed. 

The noise wasn’t so very loud, but the child startled, her eyes wide as she processed the origin of the noise. When she appeared more intrigued than fearful, Cosette pressed it again, and then a third time. On the fourth, Madeleine started laughing, and on the fifth, she was hysterical, wrecked in such loud peals of high-pitched laughter that she almost toppled over —balancing was still new and challenging for her. Marius caught his daughter before she could fall backwards from her sitting position. Bahorel looked back at Jehan, jet-black eyes suspiciously shiny, his smirk dangerously wobbly.

“Good job,” they told him, leaning forward to kiss his cheekbone, just under his eye so that they would be able to catch any tear that he might spill. They knew that Bahorel wasn’t very fond of crying in front of others if the reason was any other than laughter —a regretful consequence of his demonic education, or so he explained; showing vulnerability or any other strength than a brute one was frowned upon. Jehan, who shared no such qualms about demonstrating healthy emotions in public, would however do their very best to avoid leaving their lover in what he might judge a compromising situation. If he couldn’t quite blink away his tears, they would catch the fall-overs in swift kisses and make it seem as inconspicuous as possible.

Bahorel smiled at Jehan gratefully. He seemed to have recovered a little, but he also eagerly deflected any lingering attention from himself. “And the best for last!” he announced. “Jehan, moonpie, cuddle-bug, time to show us your gift!”

They had both considered getting a shared gift to Madeleine. The gesture had seemed nice, significant, it had felt  _ right _ that they would think of presents together and combine their thoughtfulness to give something that they both approved of. They had liked the idea very much, but they had also found that in spite of their very best intentions, they both had very different ideas as to what they wanted to give to their goddaughter, though perhaps the sentiment behind their presents didn’t differ all that much.

“Rune cubes!” Cosette gasped as she helped Madeleine unwrap her final present. The paper —the same Bahorel had used— was dotted with little bee patterns and shone under the midday sun. Madeleine was fascinated with its shine, as she bunched a strip of it under her chubby fingers. “Did you make them yourself?” she asked.

“Feuilly made the cubes, actually,” Jehan said, letting Cosette take in the wooden cubes in her hands, “but I carved the runes in and painted them myself.”

“The cubes themselves are magic-free,” Feuilly added. 

“They’re so wonderful! Thank you so much, you two,” she said, showing the gift to her daughter who immediately left her wrapping paper in favour of her new toy.

“What do they do?” Musichetta asked. Her sylph magic differed greatly from both witch and wooden nymph magics, so the point of the game was naturally mostly incomprehensible to her —as it was to most in attendance, who nodded along at her question.

“Runes can have great power when they’re assembled together. A witch can cast pretty complicated spells with the right runes associated and the right intention in mind,” Cosette explained.

“I thought this might be a good way for Madeleine to get a feel of her powers and have fun with them,” Jehan said.

Madeleine, who was entirely oblivious to what was being explained around her, moved her cubes around as best as she could in her clumsy grip. When she knocked two of her cubes against each other, they rattled and groaned for a while; she dropped them before squealing excitedly and picking another cube.

“Isn’t it dangerous, though? Giving those to a baby?”

“Oh, Cosette and I could easily blow up the house with these,” Jehan said calmly, and they seemed not to notice the way Marius paled suddenly, because they continued all the same, “but there’s no risk for Madeleine. She doesn’t know magic properly yet, she just has a feel for it, now. And she definitely can’t channel it this powerfully at her age. At best, she’ll make sparkles, maybe even flowers, or a small rain drizzle.”

“That’s such a great id—” Musichetta started, but she stopped abruptly when a great, loud noise rang out, her entire body disappearing into thin air in shock —a common occurrence for startled sylphs.

Les Amis barely had time to notice her disappearance, however, for they all jumped alongside Musichetta from the sudden loud noise.

Madeleine giggled, and grabbed her cube again, mashing it down with full force on her whoopee cushion. The noise, intensified by the rune on the cube, was deafening. 

Bahorel burst out in laughter. “We’ll make a demon out of you yet, darling girl!”

* * *

  
  
“This was a good day, wasn’t it?” Jehan asked when they returned to the home they now shared with Bahorel.

“It was,” Bahorel said, but he sighed wistfully. They had talked about it many times before, and it was slowly getting easier, but Bahorel’s longing for the child who had been his daughter for the first few months of her life would take a long time to fully dissipate, if it ever did.

“Did you bring cake back?” Russell said in a croaking voice as soon as the door was shut. The crow stood on the coffee table, staring at Jehan and Bahorel with beady eyes which only people who knew Russell personally would be able to describe as expectant —he  _ was _ a bird, after all.

“Why hello to you, too, Russell,” Jehan chided half-heartedly. “Cosette packed you a slice, yes.” 

“Oh pscht, I saw you this morning, and I saw much more than I wanted of Bahorel, too.” 

Bahorel waved him off. “I can’t hear you over the memory of you saying you found my junk nicely shaped, birdie.” 

Russell croaked out, as close to laughter as he could ever manage. “Well, how was the little chick?”

“She hasn’t eaten any worms yet, if that’s what you’re asking, chicken,” Bahorel says.

“Are you insinuating that I eat worms?  _ Please, _ you’ll be eating babies before I put a worm in my beak.” Russell turned to Jehan in a hop. “Could I have the cake, now, please? I can tell from how cuddly you two are being that you’ll be disgusting and distracted in five minutes, maximum,” he said, pointing towards their entwined hands with the end of his beak. 

“Give me a second. I do have in mind of being disgusting with my lover, so as soon as you get that cake,  _ shoo _ ,” Jehan said. 

“Fair’s fair,” the crow agreed. 

And as promised, Russell took off with his slice of cake as soon as Jehan had it unwrapped, flying away from his usual window. 

“Alright, now that we’re alone,” Jehan said, wrapping their arms around Bahorel’s waist, “it’s time to celebrate.”

“Uh?” Bahorel asked dumbly. “Didn’t we do just that?” 

“We celebrated Madeleine’s birthday, yes. Now it’s time to celebrate our first year as a team,” they told him wisely. 

Bahorel smiled, reaching up to cup Jehan’s cheeks. His face fell after a second. “Wait, but I didn’t prepare anything for it.” 

“Me neither.” Jehan shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We only need each other to celebrate one another.” 

Jehan was naturally correct, but the thought, however simple and obvious, touched Bahorel —much like anything that came from Jehan’s mouth. Bahorel leaned down, bent in a position that shouldn’t have been comfortable —and indeed it wasn’t; Bahorel was practically half a metre taller than Jehan and his neck made an audible “ _ clack _ ”— but was in fact one of Bahorel’s favourite position to find himself in. Bahorel would endure dozens and dozens of cricks in his neck and sore backs, if it meant that he would get to kiss Jehan. And indeed he did, because Jehan gave their kisses eagerly ever since Bahorel had become their recipient. Therefore, in spite of his discomfort, Bahorel pressed his lips to Jehan’s, opening them immediately to lick forward and in, for Jehan welcomed him immediately —and they always would.

They danced, then. First with their tongues, with the presses of their lips, then with their hands which ran over each other’s hair, slipped under tunics and skirts, with their fingernails which scraped at the skin of each other’s neck, with their breath, too, which grew erratic and irregular, and finally with the rest of their bodies, when they started swaying. 

There was no music playing, but for the loud beating of their hearts and the glide of their lips, but they danced. They were still terrible dancers, but it didn’t really matter, because their bodies knew one another, understood one another, because now they were lovers.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're feeling festive, please feel free to go wish the [birthday girl](https://luckybossuet.tumblr.com) a very happy birthday (or happy non-birthday if you're reading this any other day than the 29th of November lmao) and to go read her wonderful fanfics!
> 
> As usual, don't forget to tip your fic writers in way of kudos and comments if you've enjoyed their stuff! It takes a second and it makes their day! Thanks a lot for reading!
> 
> You can find me on [my main Tumblr](https://brie-on-bread.tumblr.com) and on [my Les Mis/writing one](https://brie-on-bread.tumblr.com)!


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